


Gods of Hellfire

by Hijja



Series: Hellfire [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Dubious Consent, M/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-28
Updated: 2011-08-28
Packaged: 2017-10-23 03:39:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/245908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hijja/pseuds/Hijja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The Order – we fought their bloody war for them and now-"<br/>"Now you pay for it."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gods of Hellfire

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Daily Deviant's "brothel"-prompt. Thanks to Melusinahp, Oddnari, Rfachir and Thea for beta and advice, and to Snegurochka Lee for granting the extension that allowed this monster to grow :). One scene owes its inspiration to Calanthe's extraordinary Mudhoney. Title filched from Prodigy.

"I really don't see why you think you have to take me out," Ron complained as he trotted after his brother through the cobbled lane that looked shady enough to mark the outskirts of Knockturn Alley.

He was aware that he sounded grouchy, but then again he _was_ grouchy. Bill had spent all day nagging him to come, right up to the point where pitching a screaming fit would have been the only way to get his pesky brother out of his hair. And although Ron had left St Mungo's a month ago and the last of his curse injuries had healed, if not faded, he didn't feel up to _that_ yet.

Truth be told, he didn't really mind getting out of the Burrow and away from his Mum's constant fussing and the feeling of being swaddled in cotton — but he wasn't about to admit that to Bill.

"Where are we going, anyway?" he grumbled, sending a pebble clattering down the street.

"A new wizard club," Bill replied vaguely.

Ron's eyes skittered over his brother, taking in the soft blue shirt, sharp black trousers tucked into dragonhide boots, the ankle-length cloak. Together with the long red ponytail and dangling fang earring, Bill was equipped to outshine his sullen little brother trailing behind like the proverbial ugly duckling just about as much as a Muggle floodlight would outshine a candle. This had been such a bad idea!

Yet when Ron looked up into his face, he saw a tightness in Bill's cheekbones underneath the smile that stopped him in his tracks. "This is because of Harry and Hermione, right?"

Bill's eyebrows travelled up. "What _about_ Harry and Hermione?"

"You don't need to distract me because they're together." Saying it out loud for the first time turned Ron's tongue to flour. His friends had had four months after Voldemort's defeat and the implementation of the Treaty to worry over him; no wonder they'd... developed feelings for each other. Ron couldn't blame them. He and Hermione had never made any promises. Moreover, it saved him from having to show her the scars he now sported.

"Do I really need an ulterior motive to take my moody little brother out?" Bill shook his head. "And I don't think they're together."

"Sure!" Ron snorted. "That's why they keep dancing around me ever since I got home, always whispering together and changing the topic when I wake up, and going out at night and never answering questions." He broke off when he heard the tight, wounded tone of his voice. So much for composure. "I might not be the brightest candle around, but I'm not blind either."

Bill looked at him in this weird, pitying way Ron got way too often lately. "Maybe there are other reasons," he hedged.

"Yeah, well," Ron snapped, "if people _talked_ to me instead of acting as if my head was damaged..."

"Your head _was_ damaged," Bill stated mildly before putting his hand on Ron's back and prodding him forward again. "And you'll see."

"See what?" Ron complained. "You're doing it _again_!"

Bill just grinned and steered him down yet another cobbled street, this one a bit wider, with more posh-looking buildings. Their destination, when Bill finally stopped, looked not a bit different from the houses that framed it.

"That's it?" Ron asked incredulously. It didn't look like a club at all.

One hand on the knocker, Bill turned and Ron saw that pitying expression once again on his brother's face.

"It's a... private establishment." Bill's fang earring glinted in the light of a nearby street lamp as the door swung open. "I'm sorry, runt."

The sound of his hated childhood nickname shut Ron right up as he followed Bill into a dimly lit antechamber.

Apart from a few arcane symbols woven into the carpet, the hall was empty of wizard or house-elf and looked surprisingly Muggle. No moving paintings — not even the waves were rippling in the landscape on the far wall — and a row of ecclectric lamps hung along the walls. A sturdy oaken closet took up the entire west side of the room where Bill was already putting his cloak onto a hanger. Ron accepted another and slipped out of his own cloak. The ceiling-high mirror next to the closet reflected his image — Muggle blue jeans that had become comfortable with age, a blue button-down shirt that matched his eyes, with an embroidered collar and sleeves in the same ginger red as his hair. Bill had coaxed him into it.

Nervousness ate at Ron's stomach when Bill gave him a weak smile and waved his wand. An ornate arched doorway appeared in the middle of the naked wall opposite the entrance. The arch was ringed with stone-hewn runes, the most magical thing the house had offered so far. There was no door inside the archway, however, but something that looked like solidified periwinkle mist.

Bill stepped into it without the slightest hesitation, like a diver into water. Ron braced himself, and followed. The blue spread all around him, overwhelming him despite his tightly shut eyes. He faltered, drowning in colour. Then a hand closed around his wrist and Bill pulled him through and out on the other side.

The archway glowed blue for another moment, then slowly faded to leave behind nothing but a naked wall. They were now standing in a corridor that continued the theme from the antechamber — lamps in elaborate bronze holders, expensive carpets and tapestries in earth colours interspersed with man-high mirrors that gave Ron the strangest impression of being tailed by himself.

Some of the tapestries were actually thoroughfares, Ron realised when a man stuck his head out, then pushed the curtain aside when he saw them. Ron's mind took a moment to piece together sandy hair, pale blue eyes, somewhat prominent teeth and a perpetually hunched posture. Then he went for his wand.

Bill grabbed his wrist to pull his arm down, and Ron's stomach plunged.

"That's Wormtail!" he gasped.

"I know." Bill retained his grip on Ron's wrist until the flesh started to prickle. "But we're at peace now. Put the wand away and don't hex anyone, no matter what."

And then, to Wormtail, "How are you, Peter?" Peter? Ron thought incredulously.

"Well enough." Wormtail raised his chin in Ron's direction. "He doesn't know?"

"Know _what_?" Ron snapped, only to be ignored by both men like an unruly child.

"How do you explain something like this to your brother?" Bill replied bitterly. "Who's here tonight?"

"Well, _everybody_ , of course." Pettigrew scowled. "With Malfoy bringing his brat, and you _him_..."

"It's probably better if you spill now," Ron told Bill, in a tone so low that it actually made his brother flinch.

"Though perhaps not in the corridor," Wormtail threw in and held up the curtain he'd come through.

Bill hesitated for an instant, then nodded. He waved Ron to go first, and Ron obeyed, wand lowered but still clenched in his hand. He wasn't going to disarm in the presence of a Death Eater, Treaty or not.

Behind the tapestry was a small room containing a coffee table, leather armchairs and a roaring fireplace. Wormtail flattened himself into one of the armchairs while Bill and Ron remained standing, Ron stiffly upright and within reach of the door.

"I'm honestly sorry, Ron," Bill repeated. "What exactly did they tell you about the Treaty?"

Ron frowned. "Only that after You-Know-Who had fallen, the Ministry struck a deal with the Death Eaters to keep the peace in exchange for a pardon of sorts. Which, if you ask me," Ron threw a dark look at Wormtail, "was a bad idea. They should've hunted them down and thrown the lot of them into Azkaban!"

"They wanted to prevent a civil war," Bill said. "Apart from You-Know-Who, nobody died in that 'final battle', and apart from a few scratches on the younger Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange, you were the only one seriously injured. With Voldemort dead but the Death Eaters still at full strength, it would have taken years of bloodshed to subdue them by force." Bill snorted softly. "Of course Scrimgeour did not just negotiate a Treaty — he enforced a Geas."

Ron's head snapped up. "A magical binding? Then what are we doing here – guarding them or something?"

"You wish," Wormtail chuckled, and Ron shot him a glare. He still hated the thought that at one time he'd shared his home — his bed — with the traitor's Animagus form. "They've set up a Hellfire Contract, Weasley."

Ron's mind went blank for a moment, then the blood rushed from his face. It was one thing giggling about the over-active imagination of Muggles who had somehow got hold of the idea and blown it out of proportion, and another having that sort of thing come up in a serious context. A Hellfire Contract – the Wizarding world's infamous joining of enemies.

"But that hasn't been done in centuries!" he blurted out.

"Not since the MacBoons and McCliverts preferred to tear themselves apart on Drear Isle rather than submit to it," Wormtail nodded.

"But... who?" Ron whispered, his tongue suddenly heavy.

"Well, the warring parties, of course!" Bill's self-control vanished, poison dripping from his tongue. "The Death Eaters and the Order, leaving the Ministry outside as 'rational peacemakers'".

"That's impossible!" Ron blew up. "The Order — we fought their bloody war for them and now-"

"Now you pay for it," Wormtail threw in pleasantly. And shrank back into his seat as two identical pair of eyes glowered at him. "It's better than another war, isn't it?"

"And they — we — agreed to that?" Ron sputtered, eyes darting between Bill and the traitor.

" _They_ agreed," Bill sighed. "And what were we to do? Back out and restart the very war we'd fought so hard to end? We'd have looked like the worst sort of cowards."

"And I'm sure you can see why, with the Dark Lord gone, men like Malfoy and Snape would find a solution that let them retain their position in Wizarding society _and_ allowed them to get back at the Order appealing," Wormtail added.

"They hoped we'd keep the Death Eaters so preoccupied with making points and reliving our enmities that no side would have the energy to make trouble- or get into the Ministry's way," Bill explained.

"So far," Wormtail commented suggestively, "they've been right."

"We tried to bargain you out of it in exchange for the little Malfoy," Bill said, "but when Lucius announced he'd be bringing him tonight..."

"Keep me out?" Ron gasped. "You mean that's what Harry and Hermione were on about all this time?"

"They've played the game for four months now." Bill nodded darkly and Ron started, suddenly stuck by horror.

"Harry! They'll all go after Harry!"

"They are." A disgusted frown twisted the scars on Bill's face. "And he's just self-destructive and protective enough to let them."

"Which is one of the reasons your lot was so eager to bring you in," Wormtail added. "To take some heat off Potter."

Ron's stomach cramped, like an owl about to sick up in mid-flight. He looked at Bill, who seemed reluctant to meet his eyes. Ignoring Wormtail, he stepped close to his brother. "Bill... I'm not sure if I can do that." It made him feel like the lowest of cowards indeed, especially if Harry and, oh god, _Hermione_ had been forced to go along with it... Oh fuck!

"Hermione?" he ground out. The mere thought that one of those monsters had touched her made him want to scream the roof down and choke the life out of Wormtail.

Bill ran a rough hand through his hair. "I'm so bloody sorry, runt. But she's holding up better than most. Negotiations seem to be... easier, among the women."

Torn between hope and horror, Ron looked up. "You mean they don't...?"

"No girls for us, Weasley, don't get your hopes up," Wormtail threw in nastily. "The Hellfire Contract goes back to a time before contraceptive potions were available. No damage may be inflicted beyond what can be healed at the end of a session. Leaving a witch pregnant would be a serious breach of the Contract — imposing lasting harm. Even now, among certain pureblood circles, same-sex congress isn't considered a breach of the marriage vow-"

A sharp rap on the doorframe made all three of them start. A second later, a tall figure forced its way through the curtain.

A wizard about town from his immaculate blond ponytail to his charcoal evening cloak, lace-hemmed shirt and snake-topped cane, Lucius Malfoy looked as if he'd escaped from the ad pages in _Pureblood Today_.

"I'm not interrupting negotiations for a ménage à trois, am I?" Malfoy asked, not bothering with a greeting. An unholy light dawned on his face at the sight of Ron. "My, my — it's the missing lamb." Cold eyes raked over Ron's body. "What say you, boy — in search for someone to introduce you to the delights of Hellfire?"

"Absolutely not!" Bill snapped, stepping in front of Ron.

"What, the child is too young to answer for himself?"

"You don't have to accept _any_ proposition made to you here." Bill whirled round, catching Ron's eye with an almost frantic look. "It's one of the cardinal rules."

"It's also one of the cardinal rules that he may not leave untouched once he's entered the portal," Malfoy stated. He stepped around Bill and right into Ron's personal space. The cane twirled and then rose until the snake head pushed Ron's chin up. The heavy silver chilled his skin. "Surely you've not set your sights on Wormtail?"

The idea was too repulsive for words, and Ron shuddered at the thought of sharing a bed with the man who'd shared his with him as a rat.

"You've made... other arrangements, then?" Malfoy purred, low and dangerous.

"So have you." Bill gave Malfoy a needle-thin smile. "I don't see Draco?"

"Why," Malfoy leered, "would you have done a trade?"

Bill shook his head, but his smile stayed. "No one deserves you on their first night, Malfoy."

Malfoy flicked an invisible speck of dust from his cloak sleeve. "Potter lived."

Ron's stomach flipped, and his fingers clenched around his wand. He'd never wanted to cast an Unforgivable this badly, not even during the final battle.

"I'd be willing to do a trade, though," Bill said, catching and holding Malfoy's gaze with a lack of effort that Ron envied despite himself.

"What," Malfoy mocked, "the scarred older brother instead of the savoury little virgin?"

"Ron here has his own scars," Bill said softly.

With a predatory glint, Malfoy traced the skin above Ron's collarbone. It took all of Ron's willpower not to slap the cane away, and slug Malfoy for good measure. "I think I'll see them one day soon," Malfoy whispered.

"Like hell!" Ron snarled, shaking off the snake head and taking a step out of reach.

"The rest of the night without restrictions, then?" Malfoy said to Bill, more statement than question.

Bill shrugged. "That sounds fine."

Ron opened his mouth to protest, but Wormtail stepped on his foot, nearly squashing Ron's little toe. He stifled a whimper. Bill was glaring at him too, so Ron bit down on his tongue and kept quiet.

Malfoy swept his brother a mock bow and lifted the curtain away from the door, waiting for Bill to precede him. Bill paused and grabbed the collar of Ron's shirt. "Stay with Pettigrew and do what he tells you!" he leaned in to hiss. "Promise!"

Hesitantly, Ron nodded, aware of how Wormtail avoided meeting Malfoy's eyes. He did so _not_ want Bill to go, he realised as he watched the curtain fall shut behind Malfoy, but whatever shadowy deal Bill had made with the Death Eater, he seemed desperate to keep it. Bugger! This whole thing was like a surreal nightmare!

"Look, I-" he started, but Wormtail cut him off.

"I'm not doing this for you, boy. Your friends have made me a very generous offer for taking you under my wing. So you'll do whatever I tell you — as your brother said — and we both get out unharmed, all right?"

The self-possession the man showed towards him after being so easily put in his place by Malfoy infuriated Ron. "No," he mumbled, cheeks blazing. "I mean I _can't_! Not just because it's you..."

Wormtail gave a squeaky laugh. "I'm only here to keep you out of trouble, not to fuck you. Not with the likes of Malfoy wanting into your pants. They'd find a way of making me pay if I spoiled their fun." He leaned closer, a glint appearing in his watery eyes. "But you'll have to earn fifteen points by the end of the month, and unless you want to spend your weekends sucking off fifteen different Death Eaters, I'd suggest you decide on something more adventurous." Ron's throat went dry as sandpaper, and he flinched when Pettigrew's hand locked around his wrist. "As Lucius said, you'll have to do _something_ once you've entered — otherwise everybody would just go home if they found no one to their liking..."

The grip, surprisingly strong for such a weedy man, pulled Ron's hand towards his lap. Ron felt the wool of Pettigrew's trousers under his finger pads, the outline of the man's prick under his palm. He tried to pull away, but couldn't.

"You don't want to break the rules, boy." Pettigrew's hand closed over Ron's, moving it over his cock, which firmed under the friction. "The consequences are... ugly."

"What?" Ron scoffed. "They'll kill me?"

A dark little smile played around Wormtail's mouth. "No. But they'll hand you over to us to play with — to everybody. And I'm pretty sure you don't want that." The eerie smile deepened. "I've seen it happen before when your little girlfriend provoked Bellatrix into hurting her on purpose."

"What!" Ron yelled. "That mad... _bitch_ assaulted Hermione, and you're blaming _her_?"

"I," the man stated calmly, "heard her and Potter fight about it afterwards. And unless Harry is the type to scream at a friend at the top of his lungs for falling victim to a Death Eater, she lured Bella into a trap — not that hard, I'll admit — and he found out about it."

"Why would she?" Ron protested.

"To make an example, I guess." Wormtail shrugged. "After that, nobody was going to put one toe out of line, not even with Potter. Not that he doesn't give them plenty of rope to hang him with as it is."

Ron bit back the protest that was on his tongue. There was no way Harry would blame the victim, but he couldn't believe anything the sneaking rat told him either. Still, there'd been a tension between the two that Ron had always interpreted as them being nervous about keeping their relationship secret from _him_ -

"Either way," Wormtail's voice cut into his thoughts, "we haven't had a breach of Contract after what happened to Bella. Try not to be next."

Ron closed his eyes for a second, trying to wipe the images Wormtail had so callously conjured from his inner eye.

"Go ahead, then." Pettigrew smirked and relaxed back into his armchair. Ron gulped, wondering if he really trusted the traitor enough to do this, then reluctantly leant forward and set about unbuttoning the man's trousers. Gritting his teeth, he reached inside and felt around for Pettigrew's prick. It was hot and hard and surprisingly wide in his hand. Face burning, Ron squeezed a little and shuddered at the squeaky noise Wormtail made, sinking deeper into the leather chair while pressing his erection into Ron's grip. Pettigrew's mouth was slightly open, teeth displayed prominently.

"I've no desire for you, boy," the man snapped balefully when he caught Ron staring. "I'm just upholding my side of the bargain, and you should be grateful that I won't void our transaction for your fumbling. Others won't be so generous."

Stung, Ron gave the cock another squeeze, and although Pettigrew snapped, "Not so hard!" Ron felt a few drops of sticky goo pearl from the tip. Remembering how Ron liked to tease himself, he rubbed them over the head, coaxing it out from the foreskin. He was rewarded with the sight of Pettigrew digging front teeth into his bottom lip like an ecstatic hamster and gagged silently.

It took an embarrassingly short time before the man's prick jerked hard in Ron's hand and sprayed his palm with come. The strong, musky smell filled Ron's nostrils. A wheezing noise escaped Wormtail's throat, and Ron's distaste must have been written on his face with flaming letters the way the man glared at him.

"Congratulations, Weasley! You've earned us both half a point."

Half? Ron growled in protest. He'd earned more than he'd ever wanted in his life!

"You'd make more for a fuck, that much is certain," the bastard commented maliciously, cleaning himself off with his wand. Ron used the opportunity to cast his own scouring charm on his hands that left them raw and prickling, then added another to get rid of the splashes on the cuff of his shirt.

"Still, you've fulfilled the minimum obligations now -you don't have to accept any more proposals tonight. But considering that you'll have to earn fifteen points a month, turning down offers isn't always wise. They may not be made again, and if you find yourself shunned and end up failing your obligations under the Contract..."

Pettigrew had finished tucking himself away and was now walking to the doorway, holding the curtain up for Ron. Ron cocked his head. "What?"

"We'll see. Now I show you round the place as your brother said."

Frankly, Ron had seen way too much already, but he squeezed himself past Pettigrew without further protest.

The broad corridor was still empty, but further ahead he could hear music and voices. A huge part of him wanted to turn tail and run in a very un-Gryffindor-like way. A surreptitious glance at Wormtail revealed a tensely set jaw, which made Ron wonder if the man was as nervous as Ron himself. Pettigrew wasn't particularly attractive — perhaps he had the same problem earning enough points as he'd cautioned Ron against?

"We'll go to the Entrance Hall first," Pettigrew said as they paused before wide, carpeted double doors. "Stay with me and keep your mouth shut. Don't draw attention to yourself."

He threw the doors open and led Ron into a big, circular room. Its entire left side was taken up by a bar, complete with wall-high glass shelves and assorted colourful bottles. Ron's stomach flipped when he saw the familiar forms of Moody and Kingsley Shacklebolt, leaning together at the upper end of the bar and conversing in low voices. The front part of the room was taken up by several small round tables, mostly empty. Ron followed Wormtail, who made his way through the sitting area. The bar and tables were installed on an elevated crescent half of the room, from which four flat steps led down to the lower half, reminiscent of an ancient amphitheatre. The lower part of the room was no more than an expanse of floor between two opposing doors.

What drew Ron's eyes, however, was the handful of young men kneeling along that lower wall with their shirts off and their wrists cuffed behind their backs by broad leather strips tied to metal rings in the wall. Several sets of empty manacles hung between them. With mounting disbelief, Ron recognised Zacharias Smith at the front of the group. Smith had joined the Order despite his family's objections during Harry's search for the Hufflepuff Horcrux, but had never become less of a nuisance. Beside him, Ron saw Neville's round face, brown eyes downcast, and next to him a row of Slytherins: Theo Nott and Malfoy's cronies, Crabbe and Goyle. Ron grimaced; shirtless, the pair wasn't a pretty sight.

At the very end, by the exit, knelt a young man Ron took a few seconds to identify, mainly because of the blindfold that covered his eyes right down to the bridge of his nose. The light brown hair and wide, expressive mouth finally clinched it. Oliver Wood had refused a reserve Keeper position with the Ballycastle Bats in favour of fighting against Voldemort.

"Oliver," Ron whispered, and then, to Wormtail, "Why... what's with his eyes?"

"This is where those gather who'll serve whoever comes by... orally. They call it 'The Line'. It's mostly the young and scared who prefer to earn their points this way, one by one. The older generation tends to find it a bit... disreputable." Pettigrew's eyes slid over Oliver's pronounced torso appreciatively. "Blindfolds are preferred by some of the braver ones, but then Oliver Wood isn't afraid of anything between the sheets, I'm told."

Forcing his eyes off Oliver's lightly muscled chest and tight brown nipples, Ron hugged himself. "Is that what... D'you expect me to...?" He couldn't finish. How could he ever think of begging out of something Neville and Slytherins dared to do?

"You might get a better deal than that." Wormtail shuffled his feet. "But on any other day, it can be a good way to start."

A door opened at the far end behind Smith and another young man slinked inside. With eyes even more startlingly green than Harry's in a fine-boned face framed by close-cropped hair a few shades darker than his skin, there was no mistaking Blaise Zabini of Slytherin. The last time Ron had seen him back at school, Zabini had worn it in a tight braid reminiscent of Malfoy senior. Now, it emphasised the elegant shape of his skull.

"But-" Ron hissed as Zabini knelt and suffered the bonds to snake up and encircle his wrists like serpents. "Zabini was a Death Eater?"

Pettigrew's nose wrinkled. "The Ministry wasn't too selective about designating Slytherins as 'Death Eaters' to put under the Geas."

"You mean he didn't serve Voldemort?"

Pettigrew just shrugged. Over by the bar, Moody banged his empty glass on the counter and limped down the steps towards the line of kneeling victims, causing even Neville to look up. He stopped in front of Zabini.

Zabini's mouth twitched in an expression that could be humour or contempt, but which vanished when he leant forward on his knees and placed a chained hand on the worn leather encasing Moody's thigh. Without a moment's hesitation, his fingers went to the front of Moody's trousers and deftly undid the buttons. Ron's mouth went very dry when Zabini pulled a thick, short cock free. Unlike the rest of the grizzled Auror, it looked undamaged. Zabini slid his tongue over the straining flesh, one hand on Moody's hip for balance, before sucking the prick deep into his mouth. The Auror's face held no expression, but he rocked forward to force himself deeper into Zabini's throat, whose cheeks were practically hollow while his throat worked.

Ron watched them, hot and cold with shock — he'd never seen anything like that before, so utterly obscene.

"Enjoying yourself?" Pettigrew whispered into Ron's ear. "How'd you like being stared at?" Ron started and flushed angrily — Pettigrew had been watching the pair just as closely as he had.

After long moments, Moody extricated himself from between Zabini's lips, his prick heavy and red and glistening with saliva. Ron winced when he watched the Auror tucking himself away — that had to hurt, hard as he was. Zabini looked rather sullen, and Moody slapped his cheek none too gently. Still, he bent down to mutter to the kneeling Slytherin, and Zabini's head lifted, not to gaze at the Auror whose precome he was licking off his bottom lip, but up at the bar.

Ron followed his gaze and saw Shacklebolt watching the pair, intent but with studied indifference. Catching Zabini's eye, he lifted his glass. Zabini smirked, a slow, sultry smile that sent a stab of heat into Ron's stomach. For the first time this evening, he felt his cock stirring, He watched a pregnant look being exchanged between the two men, then Kingsley put his drink on the counter and came down the stairs as well. In the meantime, Moody had produced his wand and the shackles fell off Zabini's wrists. The Slytherin rubbed his cheek against Moody's leather-clad thigh like an affectionate cat before rising to his feet. He smirked at Kingsley even as Moody's hand closed possessively around his upper arm — where no Dark Mark was visible, Ron noticed. Moody led him towards the exit, past the row of kneeling boys, Kingsley following behind.

"What's going on?" Ron hissed at Pettigrew, averting his eyes for fear that Zabini — or worse, the two Aurors — might catch him staring.

"There's a way of collecting points for you," Pettigrew said. "Ten for a threesome, twelve if you go into it without safeguards. Which is exactly what that little slut Zabini is aiming for, I guess. He's quite popular with your lot — no shame, and utterly fearless in bed. I'd advise you to get on his good side, but he prefers to play with the older sort."

Trying to suppress the instinctive rush of lust he'd felt at the sight of Zabini sucking Moody, Ron just swallowed dryly rather than contemplate himself with the Slytherin any further.

"Seen enough?" Wormtail asked with an eye on the exit. Ron nodded, creeping down the stairs as close to the door as possible to avoid passing the kneeling boys. He wouldn't be able to look any of them in the eye ever again if they acknowledged him.

His hand was already on the door knob when the entrance door banged open at the other end of the chamber. Ron turned his head and froze.

There was no mistaking the broad-shouldered figure, ever so slightly hunched, the shaggy yellow mane, scarred face and broad hands. Fenrir Greyback caught Ron's eye across the room as if drawn to the sudden freezing of prey.

With purposeful slowness, he turned to fix his gaze on the first boy in the row. Zacharias Smith did not look away, for which Ron admired him immensely for the first time ever. The Hufflepuff's face remained perfectly blank. Greyback smirked like a panther about to strike, but rocked back on the balls of his feet and stepped away from Smith. And stopped again, in front of Neville. Even from the distance, Ron could see Neville's shoulders starting to tremble. Greyback exposed prominent canines and cast a vile grin in Ron's direction as if to make sure he was watching before the claw-tipped hand grabbed Neville by the hair and pulled him close to the monster's lap.

"No!" Ron hissed through clenched teeth as Pettigrew grabbed his arm.

"You little idiot! Show them that you care and they'll use it to make you do whatever they want!" The traitor pulled Ron out of the door and into the corridor behind. "There's nothing you can do," Pettigrew insisted and shoved Ron hard into the wall. "Refusing a claimant in the Line isn't an option. And what would you've wanted to do? Offer to take Longbottom's place?"

Ron paled. Harry, he knew, wouldn't think twice before doing exactly that, and neither would Hermione. The thought of either of them kneeling, paralysed with fear, in Neville's place made Ron want to chuck up.

"I thought not." Pettigrew marched him down the corridor until they reached a staircase leading downwards and to the left. His hand was still wrapped tightly around Ron's upper arm as if he expected him to dash back in and do something stupid.

"There's two more places you should know about." Pettigrew pointed to a broad spiral staircase on the right-hand side, "This leads down to the Dungeon." The stairs were not carpeted but covered in glossy black tiles. "You can make quite a few extra points there. A lot of the older Death Eaters have a distinct preference for dealing out pain, and will expect you to play along in exchange for making you an offer." Wormtail's mouth twitched when he saw Ron flush. "I'm almost certain that your brother and Malfoy are down there right now," he added slyly.

Ron looked away — that was a lot more than he had wanted to know.

"And those lead into the Common Room." Pettigrew said with a gesture towards the carpeted double doors at the end of the corridor. Somehow, Ron thought, naming the rooms of this evil place after Hogwarts' familiar localities added insult to injury. "Perhaps we can arrange something for you there. Again..."

"... I keep my mouth shut and don't attract attention," Ron finished sourly and was rewarded with an approving nod.

Ron followed Pettigrew through the doors, his stomach a snake-coil of nerves. They led into another huge room, not unlike the one on the upper level. There were a few small tables again at the centre, but no bar. Instead, niches lined the wall, some stuffed with cushions, some open, some hidden behind flimsy curtains of gauze or glass beads that teased more than hid what was going on inside. Ron flushed hotly when his eye caught on a pair of shadow-wrapped figures in a nearby niche, locked in the ancient game of thrust and repartee. He looked away quickly, afraid of recognising a familiar face. At one of the tables, Seamus Finnigan conversed with a Death Eater Ron had seen before on Order briefing photographs, but whose name he'd forgotten. Avon, or something.

In another corner he saw the almost serene face of Terry Boot, wearing a similar broad blindfold as Ron had seen on Oliver Wood, being fucked by a Dark Wizard who held him in a tight grip, arm closed around his throat in a way that could not leave him enough room to breathe. Fascinated against his will, Ron watched the colour rise in Boot's face, matched by the way his prick rose from the brown thatch at his groin, reddening along with his face.

"Why, it's the littlest Weasley, coming out of hiding at long last," a mocking voice sounded behind him.

Ron whirled round, hand on his wand. The last time he'd encountered Rabastan Lestrange had been while rescuing Charlie from the fallout of the Death Eater's burning hex. Charlie's Dragonhide vest had held off the worst of the flames, but he'd still spent two months swaddled in potion-soaked bandages at St Mungo's afterwards. The younger Lestrange was flanked by his brother on the right, but instead of Bellatrix, a blond shadow trailed in their wake — the ferret. All three wore black; little Malfoy was dressed as carefully as his father, if with less flamboyance. He looked uneasy despite his wizarding finery.

"Why, Wormtail?" Rabastan mocked, "Surely you haven't already secured this prize?"

Pettigrew flushed. "I've agreed to be his guardian, that's all."

Lestrange looked him over from brow to loafers. "Undoubtedly in return for quite a few concessions," he sneered, then reached out to cup Ron's cheek with a cool finger. "Guarded by Wormtail — are you feeling safe now, Ronald?"

Ron wrenched his head away, and his neck stiffened. "I know you can't force me into doing _anything_ unless you want to pay the price," he spat. "Let go!"

A lazy smirk flickered around Lestrange's lip. "Is that so, little Ron? Did you polish our Peter's knob then? Or perhaps Malfoy's?" Out of the corner of his eye, Ron caught pink spots forming on the ferret's face at the mention of his father.

Ron kept his mouth shut, but Lestrange was not deterred. Purposefully, he strode into Ron's personal space until their bodies were almost pressed together. With a scowl, Ron stepped back and bumped into another body. Rodolphus Lestrange's chuckle rang in his ears as the man slung his arms around Ron's hips from behind and pulled him close. There was no mistaking the hardness that pressed into the crevice between Ron's buttocks.

Ron's hands went cold with dread as he found himself trapped between the two Death Eaters. The urge to go for his wand was almost overpowering. He threw a frantic look at Wormtail.

"Ah, boy, no one's going to force you," Rodolphus murmured almost tenderly into Ron's ear. "But you need to collect more points this month than you'll see for a little blowjob, and if suddenly no one's willing to have you..." The voice turned silky, intimate. "If no one _wants_ you, it's you who'll end up paying the price. And then we can all have you, share you like the lowest whore with nothing to protect you..." The excitement in Lestrange's voice made Ron want to throw up. He almost lashed out when he felt Rodolphus's hand caressing his thigh, inching closer to his groin.

"What's going to stop us from preventing _you_ from making points in return?" he growled, trying to ignore that he was being pawed by Death Eaters in front of the ferret.

Rabastan threw his head back and laughed. "We can bully our people into complying, little Weasel. Your lot, on the other hand, tend to falter, like Potter whenever someone threatens one of his little friends."

Ron could feel the outline of Rodolphus's prick against his arse, even through his trousers. His heart thumped painfully. Wormtail was looking down at his loafers instead of interfering, prominent teeth digging into his lower lip.

"Well, Weasley — what do you say?" Rabastan whispered against Ron's mouth.

"I hope I'm not interrupting?"

The voice snapped across the breathless silence like a whip. Memories of countless slights in Potions class welled up in Ron's mind. Rabastan turned to face the newcomer, while his brother kept Ron's hips in a loose grip which Ron could have slipped. Instead, he froze.

Severus Snape was in unmitigated black, trousers, shirt and flowing cloak. Even the small onyx buttons at his collar and wrists looked menacing. He wasn't alone, though. Behind him stood Remus Lupin, and Ron barely recognised the man whom, in all his school and Order days, he'd only ever seen in threadbare teacher's robes or bundled up in cardigans and corduroy trousers.

Now, the only thing he wore was a snug pair of Muggle jeans that accentuated the fact that he was way too thin and at the same time showed off that he was not... lacking in the size department. Ron blushed and looked away, then blushed worse. The faint scars on Lupin's face were matched by deeper ones on the left-hand side of his chest, but Ron's eyes caught at the black metal collar that circled Remus's throat. It was attached to a leather leash, the end of which lay in a loose loop in Snape's hand. Remus's own hands were bound behind his back in a leather sheath. It had to hurt — Ron could see the taut muscles standing out on Remus's bare upper arms.

Ron balled his hands into fists and slipped out of Rodolphus's hold when a sharp kick to the ankle stopped him. He glowered at Wormtail, who glared back. A near-imperceptive snap of Snape's fingers, and Remus sank gracefully to his knees at Snape's feet, barely wobbling despite his useless arms where Ron knew he'd have landed on his clumsy arse instead. Remus knelt with his head bowed and his knees apart, and the way the fabric tightened over his groin was no less than obscene. His nipples looked bright red as if they'd been... bitten, or something. There were red marks and welts all over his pale back and sides too.

"Ah, Severus," Rabastan Lestrange drawled. "We were wondering what kept you..." He passed a slow, insulting look over Remus's body. "Now we know."

Ron admired Lupin's composure at the slight — if anything, he seemed to smile quietly to himself where Ron would have turned beet red and sputtering.

"Well, Severus," Rodolphus said, "surely you can't plan on throwing these two children together — even if it would be a pretty sight to watch?"

The ferret's nose wrinkled in disgust, and for once, Ron was in total agreement.

In place of a response, Snape acknowledged the ferret with a nod, and clicked his fingers again. In an instant, both Remus's bonds and the leash vanished, and Remus rose with a fluid grace that turned him from cowering slave into hunting predator all at once. Briskly, he unsnapped the collar and handed it to Snape. A half-lidded glance passed between them as Remus rubbed his wrists to ease the blood circulation.

"Well, Mr Malfoy," Snape said, downright sourly, "Mr Lupin here has a proposition to make you."

Malfoy's lower lip wobbled as if he wanted to cry, and Ron, who had never felt a second's empathy with a Slytherin before, understood perfectly how he had to be feeling. They were caught up in the same misery after all, except that Ron would jump with joy to see Remus's hand extended to _him_.

Malfoy bit his lip, then nodded as faintly as if someone had sneaked up and petrified his neck muscles.

"No conditions?" Snape asked, more statement than question. Ron could see Malfoy's Adam's apple bob as he swallowed hard, his eyes pleading.

"Go for it, boy," Rabastan sneered. "I'm sure Snape has instructed his lapdog to use you gently."

"The lapdog will do as he pleases," Lupin said, speaking up for the first time, calm but with an instinctive arrogance in his posture that wiped away any remaining trace of the kneeling submission he'd exuded before.

Shakily, Malfoy touched Remus's fingers, and Remus clasped them for an instant before pulling the young man into a loose embrace into which Malfoy fell with a squeak, eyes fluttering shut and teeth biting his bottom lip into plumpness. Remus whispered something into Malfoy's ear, eyes laughing over Draco's shoulder at Snape.

"Good night, Severus," he said pleasantly. "Ron."

Remus parting glance felt... heavy, as if he was trying to pin Ron in place and tell him something important. Still, Ron wailed inwardly as he watched him walk away, guiding Malfoy with an arm still slung around the boy's waist. How could Remus leave him alone in a crowd of enemies?

Snape, who seemed to know exactly how cold Ron felt inside, fixed him with the dark scowl Ron remembered all too well from Potions class, where it had inevitably meant loss of points or detention.

"Well, boy?"

Ron blinked at him, owl-like. A muted giggle came from Wormtail, and even stern Rodolphus's mouth twitched.

"He's requesting your... company, Ronald." Rabastan glared at Snape. "Though it's pretty bare-faced of you to try and get your hands on _both_ tasty fresh morsels — fucking one yourself and handing the other over to your plaything." Snape didn't look the slightest bit bothered by that.

Thoughts whipped through Ron's head like a flock of Billywigs. No _way_ Snape could have any interest in him!

"Don't fear, Ron, we'll protect you." Rabastan smirked, running a palm up Ron's spine that had him shivering through his shirt. "He's an ugly, sadistic bastard. You'd do much better with one — or both — of us."

"Yes," Rodolphus threw in. "I'd be curious to see what my dear wife's curses have left of his skin."

Snape's long nose twitched in eloquent disgust, but he didn't react to the jibe. "Your decision boy?" he snapped. "I won't wait all night."

"Oh yes, you have _other_ plans for the night..." Rabastan slurred, and suddenly his hand on Ron's back was far too hot, the man's whisper in his ear far too scary. Ron shook off the grip and stepped forward, right towards Snape whom he hated, but who had, at least, never tried to kill him. Instead, he'd saved them again and again. Even Harry's rapid victory over You-Know-Who was rumoured to owe a debt to the Potions Master-turned-traitor, although Harry had never confirmed it outright.

"Is that a decision, or are you just running away?"

Ron felt the weight of the merciless eyes and swallowed. He'd grasped enough of the mad rules of this place to know he could walk away now without risking anything... apart from those bloody 'points' he needed to avoid a Death Eater gang rape at the end of the month. And Remus had left him in Snape's hands, and Bill had bargained himself to Malfoy for _something_ , and Ron's ankle still stung from Wormtail's warning kick...

He lifted his chin. "I'm not running."

"No?" Snape cocked his head.

"No," Ron confirmed. "I... I accept your proposal." He did not manage to bring himself to look the man in the eye as he said it.

Behind him, Rabastan let out a snort, and Snape inclined his head. "It seems as if your wooing leaves something to be desired, Rabastan," he mocked, then took hold of Ron's chin.

Teeth clenched, Ron met the cold black gaze before something closed around his throat, and clicked shut. Ron's hand flew up to his neck, encountered smooth metal, and he stumbled back with a croak. The collar Snape had taken off Remus now adorned Ron's throat. A pair of hands steadied him from behind. He found himself swivelled around and staring into Rabastan Lestrange's thin smile.

"Enjoy your pick," the Death Eater murmured. His mouth closed over Ron's lips. Ron, still frozen with shock, let himself be kissed without a struggle. "There will be a next time, little one," Rabastan promised, tracing a thumb over Ron's collar and throat before steadying him back onto his feet.

Bowing to Snape in mock exaggeration, he turned and stalked off, his brother in tow. A frantic look around revealed that Wormtail, too, had scampered without taking his leave. Being left alone with Snape all of a sudden hit Ron like a punch to the gut. And he'd promised... Fingers grappling with the collar, he fought the urge to dash away like a drenched Kneazle.

"Take it off!" he demanded instead.

"No," Snape replied calmly. "I prefer to have my possessions marked as such. And-" He raised a hand, cutting off Ron's furious protest, "if I should decide to parade you naked through the Common Room on a leash, or chain you to a wall by that collar to fuck you, I'd be well within my rights. So I'd advise you to show a modicum of respect."

"I only agreed if-" Ron began, only to find Snape's finger hooked inside the collar and himself yanked against the man until he could see pointy, yellowed canines up close. Snape's finger was cool and bony against the pulse hammering at his throat.

"No, you did not. You forgot to mention that little detail." Ron gulped down air in terror. He had! "I will, however, not exploit the situation unless you provoke me beyond measure," Snape added. "Though that only means that I won't go too far while fucking you — _not_ making concessions before you even have your clothes off!" Snape pulled him even closer, until Ron was pressed against the man's hard body. Unlike with Lestrange, he couldn't feel an erection. "Now," Snape said giving the collar a tug, "does this just scare you, or are you actually working yourself up to a panic attack?"

"I'm not... it's just-" Ron stuttered, cheeks ablaze. The implications choked him in a way the collar itself did not.

A slow, nasty smirk spread on Snape's face. "Yes, Mr Weasley — that's the point." Snape put a hand on Ron's back. "I assume you'd rather not conduct this... exchange in public?" he inquired.

Ron shook his head and let Snape lead him out of the Common Room and into a side corridor until Snape stopped in front of an unobtrusive door which he spelled open with a wand flick.

Ron slouched inside, taking in the huge bed, sturdy table, oppressive black-and-red décor. Two wooden nightstands framed the bed, each decorated with a Greek-style vase that showed painted ancient wizards doing... things with their wands and each other that Ron refused to ponder lest he'd dissolve right into the floorboards with shame. The bare walls sported ominous sets of hooks and manacles. His muscles knotted in fear as the door clicked shut.

Snape put his wand on the table and stood right before Ron, looking stern and forbidding, his expression as dark as his clothes. Just when Ron felt he was going to break down and blubber any second, Snape reached up and began to undo the buttons of his shirt. Flashes of skin as pale as Ron's own were revealed in a businesslike manner, and when Snape slid out of the garment and smoothed it over the back of a chair, it was the least seductive thing Ron had ever seen.

Snape was, well, ugly, there were no two ways about it. Lank hair fell over his shoulders like black scissor blades, and the furry trail of hair running down and disappearing into his waistband emphasised that he was way too thin for his height. And yet, Ron had to admit that Snape had a sort of wiry strength, not unlike Ron's own. Snape's face never changed, not even when he started to unbutton his trousers and Ron's cheeks flooded scarlet. The trousers followed Snape's shirt on the chair, as did his underpants — made of soft black silk Ron hadn't expected.

Ron chanced a glimpse down at Snape's groin. His prick was surprisingly dark against pale thighs, nestling in black pubic hair above the round, furred shape of his balls. He wasn't exactly hard, as if he found this whole business no more enticing than Ron himself. Quickly, Ron looked away, only to shiver under the acidic sarcasm of Snape's voice.

"Unless you are waiting for me to do something about it, Weasley, I suggest you get rid of your clothes as well."

Cringing inwardly, Ron started to fiddle with his shirt. Perhaps Snape had meant to set him at ease, undressing first, but if so, it hadn't worked. Snape might manage to keep cool as a cucumber even naked, but Ron couldn't. His fingers felt as if they'd swollen to sausages on the new buttons, and Ron experienced a flash of gratitude when Snape huffed and pulled him in to attend to the damnable things himself.

He kept his eyes on Snape's shoulder as the man stripped the shirt off Ron's body. He waited for the inevitable gasp. When it didn't come, he peered up and found the hard eyes fixed on the red scars criss-crossing his chest and collarbone. After staring for a minute at least, Snape turned Ron around to examine the parallel patters on his upper back. Ron shuddered when he felt Snape's fingers trace the ugly web.

"Does it hurt?"

Ron shook his head. It wasn't pain that made him tremble, just a fundamental fear of being looked at, and the sharp clarity of memory that always came with it. The Semperwhip slicing across his upper back from behind, throwing him around only to return in a second curse that slammed into his chest until it felt as if Ron's heart had been sliced to ribbons along with the flesh above it. Bellatrix's shrill giggle had followed him into oblivion.

Hermione had told him later how Harry had stunned Bellatrix in mid-laugher, with enough force to shatter half her ribs. Only Hermione's rapid spellwork had saved Ron's life. It had been rage at seeing Ron fall, many claimed, that had given Harry the strength to strike the Dark Lord down where he stood.

Snape ran his finger over the red indenture the collar had left, and traced the slight ridges of the scars below, not a result of the Semperwhip but of a brain tentacle two years before. For an instant, something in the man's expression seemed to soften, then his features returned to their unreadable mask.

"You will come back to me two weeks from now," Snape announced, tracing the hardened scars on Ron's left shoulder blade. "There is an ointment that will help with the scarring."

"But the St Mungo's Healers-" Ron started, unwilling to have his hopes raised.

"- have not invented the motherspell."

Ron shut his mouth. Yes, without Snape inventing Sectumsempra, the derivate spell causing Ron's injuries would never have been inflicted. Then again, Lestrange might have used the Killing Curse instead, and that would have been the end of him. "All right," he mumbled.

"Now..." Snape pulled trousers and underpants down Ron's hips until Ron could step out of them with a burning head. "Lie down on the bed — on your back."

Ron stumbled backwards, his knees wobbly as if filled with water. The bedspread was pure black, so rich it shimmered like a pool of water. The fabric was feather-soft under Ron's body as he stretched out. His hands suddenly felt too big and clumsy, so he crossed them over his stomach for a modicum of protection.

Snape came after him, the side of the bed dipping as he sat down. Ron started to sit up, but a hand on his chest held him down. He squeezed his eyes shut, tensing his hands to keep them from trembling as a curtain of hair tickled the side of his hip. He felt Snape's hand brush his thigh, then closing around Ron's cock, sliding up to grip the base. Ron's eyes flew open. Above him, the darkwood panels of the ceiling slid into sharp focus.

Ron's entire body tensed as lips closed around him, very warm and wet even though the mouth was _Snape's_. He gasped out loud when all of his blood seemed to rush into the organ so plied. Snape lifted his head from Ron's groin for a moment, lips glistening, and raised an eyebrow.

"You don't have any objections, I hope?" Snape's voice was sardonic and silky and his breath ghosted over Ron's prick in the worst sort of teasing imaginable. It nearly made Ron forget his embarrassment and yell 'get on with it!' instead.

"No," he moaned, adding, "No objections!" so quickly that his face burned even hotter. "But you said you-" He broke up, trying to rekindle his brain which was currently drowned out by his cock clamouring for Snape's mouth.

Snape trailed the inner crease of Ron's thigh with his thumb, and Ron splayed his leg outward obediently. "Among the fifteen points to be acquired per month," he lectured, " _one_ at the very least has to be earned on the... serving, or receptive end. This will not be an issue for most of your generation, I realise, but for the older sort..." Ron nodded impatiently. Yes, he could see how that would give Snape cramps, not to mention arrogant gits like Malfoy and the Lestranges, or, come to think of that, Moody.

Then the blissful mouth shut up and descended again, and Ron's heartbeat sped up as if jump-started with a hammer. He exhaled with a great sigh, feeling his cock swell and harden under a slithering tongue that felt amazingly good for having dripped undiluted poison for longer than Ron had been alive.

He became painfully aware of the throb in his balls, their hot, heavy pressure adding to the ache that engulfed his entire groin. His fists closed and opened until his fingers crept, almost involuntary, down to Snape's oily hair.

A sharp tug at Ron's pubic hair made him cry out. His eyes, shut in hazy bliss, snapped open to meet Snape's glare. Ron's prick popped unceremoniously from the man's mouth and rose towards Ron's belly in an inelegant, angry curve.

"Keep your hands to yourself, Weasley, or I'll hang you from a hook." Snape stabbed his head towards the wall with its assorted manacles.

Guiltily, Ron jerked his hands away, trying not to stare at the sheen of precome on Snape's thin lips. A drop had collected at the corner of his mouth, fattening but not yet ready to spill.

"Cross your wrists behind your head," Snape ordered, the corners of his mouth pulling further down as he licked it off. "And keep them there. If you can't, I'll weld them to your collar."

"No!" Ron raised arms mottled with gooseflesh. He laid the back of his right wrist over his left, feeling the pulse point thrumming against his flesh.

Snape observed him a moment longer through slitted eyes, as if to make sure Ron held the right position. Then the dark head lowered, sucking Ron's prick back into that evil mouth in a thorough, no-nonsense way until — fuck! — it had to be deep enough to close off the bastard's gullet. Snape swallowed, sucking Ron into tight, pressing heat until Ron clawed nails into his own wrists and a frantic, desperate whine crept from his throat.

He wouldn't last much longer under that merciless assault, not with his balls aching like bubbling potion about to overflow. His brain felt like an egg boiled too soft. Ron squinted down at Snape, bowed in a long curve over his groin and sucking him while his throat moved violently and the collarbones stood out against his pale skin like sweat-dipped stone. Still, it was Snape! He couldn't come in his ex-professor's mouth!

And then Snape swallowed again, a painful gulp without breath that pulled all thought from Ron's brain and ripped orgasm from his prick in one blinding moment of heat and come.

Ron found himself flopping bonelessly on the bedspread, gasping like a fish on dry land and utterly winded. He'd never thought sex could be so... well, amazing. He'd wanked, of course, and Lavender had touched him through his pants a few times, but this... and with _Snape_ , of all people!

The sharp-nosed face appearing above him like a djinn conjured by its name made Ron struggle into a sitting position. His wrists tingled. Snape stared down at him, wiping his mouth in a way that had Ron's cheeks flaming again.

"How many points does that make now, Mr Weasley?"

Ron did the math in his murky head. "One and a half, Sir."

It must have been the honorific rather than the sum that made Snape's lip quirk. Hell, even Harry would have called the git 'Sir' after this!

"Then we'd better earn you some more, shouldn't we?"

Ron sneaked an unsubtle look at the man's prick, which was definitely hard now, arching upward in an arrogant, thin curve. Before panic could flood him, Snape hooked his finger into Ron's collar and pulled him into his arms.

"So eager?" he hissed, face only inches from Ron's and his skin very cool against Ron's flushed, sweaty limbs except where his cock pressed into Ron's belly with all the heat of a Lumos turned flesh.

Ron bit his tongue, as irrationally scared that the man might kiss him as he was of what would follow. The collar felt as if it was shrinking by the second.

"Please, can you take it off?" he asked in a small voice.

Snape propelled him backwards, until Ron's bare arse banged into the table and he collapsed on the smooth wooden top with an "Umph!"

Snape leaned over him like a living blanket, cock pressing into Ron's hip with even more force than before. Ron could feel the wiry hair on Snape's belly and groin prickle against his flesh. He bit back a whimper when he felt his own prick twitch again in response.

"Not as brave as our resident werewolf, are you, Mr Weasley?"

Ron's fingers scrabbled over the surface of the table, heart hammering as hard as if it wanted to escape Ron's chest and take up residence inside Snape's.

"Definitely not, Sir," he ground out.

"Well, then..." A sharp click, and Snape pulled the metal collar away from Ron's neck. Ron took a deep, relieved breath and felt his nipples rise against Snape's chest. The man pulled back a little for a merciless once-over that seemed designed to map every one of Ron's imperfections.

"Well, since you've volunteered to serve my pleasure..." Snape drawled, the tone pregnant with promise. "I'm a lot less fond of watching my... partners' expressions than other acquaintances I could name."

He turned Ron's head towards the vase on the nearest of the two nightstands. The glazed surface showed the stylised figure of a lithe young wizard, bent over far enough for him to hold onto his ankles with both hands, while another played idly with the wand protruding from between his arse cheeks. Ron tried to squirm away, but Snape's fingers forced him into place.

"Well, that might be a bit too strenuous for a beginner," the bastard mused. "I'd say the table will be more comfortable."

Ron squeaked without dignity as Snape rolled him onto his front and prodded him further up onto the table-top. Tensing in panic, Ron squeaked again when Snape slapped his buttock.

"Calm down, Mr Weasley. I have no intention of hurting you. If I should — beyond what you can reasonably expect — you may warn me off. Though I doubt that a vaunted Gryffindor hero will have to resort to that."

Ron glared at the table-top as if it was an enemy. A soothing palm was placed over his cheek and rubbed the sting away. Then Snape pulled his thighs apart until Ron knew his hole had to be visible. He cringed in shame.

Unmindful, Snape pushed him up even further and then Ron felt the sharp end of a wand _there_. His eyes bulged for a second until he heard Snape mutter a spell and felt something squishy and warm slime into him. Invasive as it was, the feeling itself wasn't unpleasant — it filled him with warmth and an expectant prickle. It also made him aware that his prick was responding again, rising up slowly against the underside of the table.

Suddenly, the wand at his hole was back, pushing against the pucker, careful but insistent. Before Ron could pass out with fear, his muscles seemed to... expand around the wooden tip, allowing it in with barely any resistance. He felt it being swirled inside him, retracted, and pushed a little further again, its way eased by the potion. Until Ron's own inner walls seemed to grip and suck it deeper. Ron's head suddenly felt oddly light, as if his brain was about to dissolve altogether.

Another smack landed on his previously castigated arse cheek and he gulped for breath with an indignant huff.

"Breathe, you little fool," Snape snarled behind him, twisting the wand inside Ron again until Ron could do nothing else but gasp and shudder. "Merlin protect me from hysterical virgins," he heard the man grumble. "You couldn't have gone to Lucius, could you, who _likes_ that sort of thing?" The sour voice was strangely at odds with the soothing strokes of Snape's hand along Ron's trembling flank.

He'd have expected it to hurt a lot more, but Snape's potion seemed to have healing properties and the wand felt way less... invasive than Ron had expected. The man must have pinched Ron's own wand from his bundle of discarded clothing to stick up his arse.

The slide-jab-twists inside him gradually became more insistent until Ron felt a surge of pleasure run through him at the end of a particular energetic twist. It crackled up his spine and he moaned in delight before he was aware he was doing it.

"Ah, not so horrible now, is it?" Snape mocked and gave the wand another roll inside Ron's depths, hitting the same infernal spot. Ron raised his hips up a little, embracing the smooth hardness inside him. His stupid prick, now up to full hardness, pressed against the underside of the table.

"Ready?" Snape whispered, leaning over Ron's sweaty body, and Ron could feel the man's cock pressing hot against his thigh.

"Yeah," Ron whimpered, wondering for a lust-soaked instant whether Snape's lubrication had been laced with an aphrodisiac, or a babbling potion — or both.

"Good," the bastard drawled and slowly slid the wand out of Ron's hole. Instinctively, Ron lifted his bottom, the walls of his channel clutching to retain the intrusion. Snape laughed at him, low and dark and then Ron was empty after a last stinging pull, his face burning like a little sea of fire and the tip of his prick leaving smears of fluid where it pushed up against the wood.

Ron's heart sped up as he felt Snape's cock press against his opening, softer but wider than the wand and alien in a way said wand had not been. There was something terrifying about another person trying to become... _part_ of him that way, as if taking possession from the inside. Even though... it had been good before as his painful erection proved. It might get even better.

He swallowed hard to calm his fluttering stomach and relaxed against the table. There was a bit of resistance now as Snape pushed forward. Snape's prick entered him, hot and slippery with potion, pushing him apart and filling him up in a way that was frighteningly complete in its thoroughness. It burned, but didn't hurt enough to stop Ron's cock from trying to burrow through the table top like a slimy woodworm.

"Yes!" Snape hissed, a low exhale as he thrust forward until he was fully sheathed and draped over Ron's back. Ron could feel his breath tickling the shell of his ear. "Are you still alive, boy?"

"Half-way," Ron quipped, intensely aware of the warmth of Snape's hips and thighs above the all-consuming presence of his cock inside him.

A little pull back and shove forward left Snape even deeper inside Ron's arse and a burst of pleasure glued Ron's tongue to the roof of his mouth. His eyes filled and his skin crawled at the sudden, irrational thought that if Snape burrowed into him any deeper, he might devour Ron alive from the inside.

"Feel free to be expressive, Weasley," Snape murmured, in his fucking superior lecture voice if a tad breathless, "While the acts of the _body_ will be observed, your words will not."

"Observed?" Ron yelled as soon as the meaning had registered. He craned his head around so fast that the back of his skull almost smacked into Snape's teeth. Even through Snape's lanky hair obscuring his vision, the door looked safely closed. Snape grabbed the sweaty hair at his nape and pushed Ron's face back down onto the table, cheek first.

"Of course observed," he snapped. "Would anyone leave Contract fulfilments like these to the sense of honour among enemies?"

The git slithered his hips in a way that told Ron exactly what he thought of honour, or about the particular enemy he was impaling. "Some take much pleasure in it, too." Snape lowered his head so that his lips touched Ron's cheek — the one that was not in the process of being ground into wood. It was the furthest thing from a kiss in Ron's entire life. "Let me show you."

Snape's hand moved in front of Ron's face as if to wipe at the air. Ron saw the world tinged in powdery blue for a second, then the dim glow of the bedside lamps was back.

"Think of those you saw tonight," Snape's sharp voice commanded. " _Vide!_ "

Ron felt Snape _rock_ inside him, brushing that same mad spot he'd stimulated with his wand before, and for an instant the way his vision blanked out into grey felt like a normal effect of pleasure that intense. Then powdery blue started to swirl inside the frame of grey, and shadows began to move, coagulating slowly into his brother's face. The strange light almost washed out Bill's scars, but could not disguise that his eyes were screwed shut, a pained frown marring his forehead. As Ron watched, Bill's teeth bit down on an already bruised bottom lip.

The focus widened to include white hair, then the sharp Malfoy profile, and Ron recoiled. The instinctive backward movement impaled him deep on Snape's cock, tinting the blue-grey-white vision scarlet for a second.

"No!" Ron protested. "I don't want to-"

"I don't care, Weasley," Snape hissed, snapping his hips forward until Ron let out a shocked wail. "Watch!"

Ron watched. Bill, dangling from a hook in the ceiling by his bound wrists, trembling precariously on tiptoes while Lucius Malfoy circled him like a hyena with a braided whip glittering with metallic strands. Ron saw his brother jerk as it opened a cut on his hip; he lost his footing and hung with his full body weight from his wrists. Bill's face shone with sweat as more lashes bloomed on his pale skin, garishly visible while Malfoy rounded his brother's dangling body, searching for unbroken flesh to mark. Malfoy's dressing gown, thin and glossy like raven feathers flowing from shoulders to floor, left his front bare and did nothing to hide his erect cock.

A feral grin exposed Malfoy's canines whenever Bill's feet scrabbled and slipped on the floor. Ron could see the strain on his shoulders, the sweat trickling down his face until Malfoy flipped the whip over in his hands, pressing the handle between Bill's arse cheeks in a suggestive threat that made Bill's face crumble in a way the lashes had not. Then Malfoy pulled it back and flung it to the ground before lifting Bill's hips and impaling him on his prick in one hard move. Ron didn't need to hear sound to feel his brother's scream as Bill's mouth snapped open.

Ron whimpered in shock and curled his back more tightly into Snape's embrace. In a weird way, the burn of Snape's prick inside him anchored him in his own reality.

He tried to close his eyes against the vision, but it seemed to have crept onto the inside of his eyelids and into his brain.

Malfoy and his brother dissolved into blue, and Ron's mind was caught by another spill of pale hair, this time mingled with brown as the spell spirited him into another bedroom, not unlike the one Snape was currently fucking him in, though done up in greens and creams rather than black and red. On a circular bed was Draco Malfoy, on his back with hair spilling around his head like a corona, and Remus Lupin crouching above him with Malfoy's legs over his shoulders.

Malfoy's prick lay fat against his stomach, purple and swollen in a way that belied what had to be — in its natural state — quite slender proportions. It glistened with saliva as if it had been suckled for hours. Remus was fucking him, not gently by a long shot judging from the way Malfoy's body shook at every thrust. He kept his body weight off the boy, though, and every so often flicked his thumb against Malfoy's cockhead, grazing the slit or teasing the purple head. Malfoy's mouth was open, his eyes squeezed shut as if in pain. Ron had never seen his school nemesis's face so unguarded, caught up in mindless lust as he dug his fingers into Remus's back.

Malfoy's abandon brought back the leaden heat in Ron's own balls, the way his cock begged for attention. Snape's rocking inside him had given way to serious pounding now, leaving a deep ache to bloom in Ron's arse that did nothing to ease Ron's agonising hardness.

" _Vide!_ " Snape snarled again as if realising that his insistent fucking had ripped Ron out of the vision.

Ron's protest drowned in blue; his mind's eye was spirited away by a spinning series of hair and skin, his brother's screams, Lucius Malfoy caught up in brutal lust as his son cried out and begged for Lupin's cock, Blaise Zabini twisting in Kingsley Shacklebolt's arms, dripping prick rubbing against the Auror's belly while Moody plunged into him from behind, fingers digging into Zabini's hips so hard that Ron could taste the red bruises. He wanted to press himself into Zabini's skin, kiss the ferret's bruised, open mouth and _wanted_ to feel Lucius Malfoy's nails tearing into his skin as he fucked him. He could hear himself howl in the web of visions, begging Snape for harder, more, _please_! He felt his spine arch as he pressed back against Snape's cock, spurting come against the bottom of the table until the wood rubbed at his raw, tender prick. He collapsed into a sobbing heap without being able to feel Snape's final thrusts before the man spilled himself into him as well. There was no air, and no light, and he refused to open his eyes or his mind for fear of seeing more than he'd ever wanted.

He came to himself still on the table, mouth open and tasting dusty wood, drenched in sweat. Come dripped from the underside of the table onto his big toe, but he was too exhausted to move. His face was wet although he couldn't remember crying, and his feet almost gave out under him as Snape helped him off the table and over to the bed.

Gratefully, Ron sank down, putting his weight on his arms and hip rather than on his bruised arse. He hid his face in the wet cloth Snape summoned. It calmed the wild humming of blood in his ears, and gave Ron a much needed moment to compose himself. To his surprise, Snape didn't butt in with a spiteful comment.

"Why did you do that?" Ron's voice was hoarse with resentment, unable to shake the images that had whipped him to this feral orgasm: Zabini's body, writhing between the two Aurors, his face a withdrawn slate; Remus's and Malfoy's hair mingling as Remus pounded into the young man, draped over him like a vampire; but most of all his brother's face as his body jerked under Lucius's whip and the way Bill's eyes had snapped open when Malfoy rammed his cock home.

"You had to find out," Snape answered after a moment. "And I've found that the direct way is usually the best."

"That's probably why you're such a piss-poor teacher," Ron snarled, hurt and raw in more ways than one.

Snape flipped him over in mid-protest and pulled his thighs apart to probe his widened hole. "No damage that requires healing, boy. You can stop complaining now."

"You didn't have to!" Ron insisted, blindly trying to find a way behind Snape's guarded eyes. "I didn't mind... you being you."

"Words can't express my relief at hearing that," Snape snorted, rolling Ron carefully onto his back while propping his hips up a little to avoid putting too much weight on Ron's sore arse. Instead, he leaned into the pillows, Ron half on his lap, and ran a fingernail down Ron's exhausted prick.

"We're being watched too, right?" Ron realised.

Snape nodded. "By just about every Death Eater who enjoys seeing a little virgin deflowered." He chuckled at Ron's offended expression. "The Vide spell records all transactions in the house, and makes them available for re-viewing by anyone who shows an interest. An insurance policy, and a popular one at that. So don't be surprised if someone confronts you with a recording of what happened tonight in an attempt to humiliate you. Or one of your friends."

Ron's blood ran cold at the thought of Harry watching him writhe and plead under Snape's cock and the small stirrings Snape's fingers had evoked in his sluggish organ deflated.

"Snap out of it, Weasley!" Snape roared. "We've all seen — and done — a lot worse to Potter than that."

"You hate him!" Ron accused, shrinking backwards.

"Of course I do," Snape agreed, unperturbed. "I've taken great pleasure in putting him in his well-deserved place until Lupin insisted — and very skilfully at that — that those efforts would be better spent on him."

"But you still you want me to protect him?" Ron challenged.

"He defeated the Dark Lord. For that, if nothing else, he deserves better than being broken between my erstwhile allies." Silence rose, and Ron felt exhaustion tug at his eyelids while he tried to ponder the implications of Snape's words.

"You've had your first taste now," Snape stated, pulling the coverlet up over their legs. "Have you already planned your next move?"

"How would I even go _about_ it?" Ron exclaimed, teeth tugging at his bottom lip.

"You go and ask," Snape said with a small smirk.

"Anyone at all?"

"Anyone at all. Or better, anyone who might be willing to agree. Pick your battles wisely, though," Snape advised, lazily stroking the length of Ron's thigh. "Be certain that you can handle what Malfoy did to your brother before you walk into it."

"Or you, to Remus?" Ron needled, still uneasy about the performance he'd witnessed in the corridor.

Snape's hand closed around Ron's prick in a warning grip. "Lupin and I suit each other well, not to mention that he's busy drawing me away from young Harry. He's not my only one, though — the rules forbid making one's monthly points with one partner only." His expression turned sour. "The Contract is designed to bind two hostile camps, not merely two enemies. So make sure you secure a handful of options."

"The Line first, I think." Ron said thoughtfully. "And then... Rabastan Lestrange."

"He's a very dangerous man."

Ron shrugged. "They all are. But his brother scares me, and Lucius would cut me to bits. And they're the ones who matter most, aren't they? Those who've been trying to break Harry." He paused, pondered. "Rabastan, and the fer- Draco. If we can make arrangements among the 'younger sort', it should make us less vulnerable to some of the scary bastards, right?"

Snape went very still. "I cannot fault your analysis," he said at last. "But be warned that my... protection will be withdrawn should young Mr Malfoy be harmed in any way. Lupin and your friend Potter are not the only ones protective of their own. You don't want me as your enemy, Ronald."

"What the hell do you think I would do?" Ron sputtered angrily.

"Spare me the hypocritical outrage, Weasley," Snape snapped. "I know better than anyone the potential for cruelty that lurks behind the Gryffindor façade. Your twin brothers have already made quite a reputation for themselves over the past months."

"Fred and George aren't-" Ron growled, but Snape cut him off.

"I'm not accusing them, Weasley. Intimidation is a desirable weapon in this game, and I'm not feeling sorry for anyone who's got on their bad side so far. But the Death Eater children are victims of ... particular pressure, and I will do whatever is in my power to protect Narcissa Malfoy's son from harm."

"How long?" Ron asked. "How long before we're free of this?"

"We can petition the Wizengamot to lift the Geas after seven years."

Ron dumped his head into his hands with a groan. "Seven years! We're doomed!"

Snape's sharp finger poked him in the side and he jumped. "Stop being melodramatic, Weasley. It's nothing compared to a wizarding lifespan. Accept it and adapt. There _is_ pleasure in it if you can allow yourself to find it."

"Like Neville? Like Harry?" Ron retorted bitterly.

"It's up to us to set up the board to guard them then, isn't it, Mr Weasley?"

"Could I... come to you again once in a while?" Ron asked, blushing into the pillow. Snape snorted, but not unkindly.

"You've started to play already?"

"No!" Ron shot back, surprised by the vehemence of his protest. "Well, perhaps I liked your way of making your embarrassing single point."

"You'll be coming back in two weeks for your ointment." Snape said. The smile on his face was gone before Ron could be sure it had even been there. "We'll see."

Ron snuggled a bit further down under the coverlet to warm himself against Snape's bony thigh, and conceded, "Perhaps not such a piss-poor teacher after all."

  
_~ finis ~_   


**Author's Note:**

> Written in June 2007


End file.
